


Repentance for Your Every Sin

by Evilawyer



Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-10-14
Updated: 2008-10-14
Packaged: 2017-11-22 08:39:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,858
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/607915
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Evilawyer/pseuds/Evilawyer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Am I your penance, Doctor?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Repentance for Your Every Sin

The Doctor hears the sound of a throat clearing. He rustles his newspaper and lifts it higher in front of him so that whoever it is that wants the salt or the sauce or the cream will go away.

“It's you. I can tell it's you.”

The Doctor keeps his newspaper in front of his face. “Yeah. It's me. Now bugger off.”

“Don't you know me?”

“Should I? If I should, then feel free to pull up a chair. I was just leaving anyway.”

The stranger takes hold of the top of the Doctor's paper and pulls it down. He looks at the Doctor intently as a grin too wide and too delighted to be completely sane crosses his features. “It **is** you.” Worried curiosity replaces the grin. “What have you done to yourself?”

The Doctor snaps his paper back up in front of his face without looking at the imbecile. “Nice to see you, too, whoever you are. Now, if you'll just toddle off and let me finish my tea and read my paper, there's a good...”

“Doctor. It's me.”

The Doctor lowers his paper and looks at the man across the table suspiciously. “How do you know my name?”

“How could I not?” The Master pulls the chair across the table from the Doctor out and sits down. “You chose it. Sanctimonious enough to make everyone in our class retch and call you a twat behind your back, but then,” the grin again, smaller and more charming, “it's so you.”

“Right, then” the Doctor folds his newspaper and throws it on the table. “Goodbye.”

The Master starts forward, his hands reaching across the table as the Doctor pushes his chair back. “No, wait. Doctor. Wait!” The Master lowers his voice in an effort to sound calm. “I keep trying, I keep listening for someone, anyone, but I can't hear anyone over the ... I keep trying to feel someone but I can't. No one at all. There's only you. Well, you and the other one of you that I left stranded at the end of the universe. Bastard locked the coordinates. I'm stuck between the end of all things and early 21st century London.” Looking at the newspaper between them, the Master lets out a small huff of a laugh. “Either you or your old banger of a TARDIS must have screwed things up again because the temporal coordinate screen says that I'm not supposed to be able to go farther back in time than 2006. According to this,” he points at the newspaper, “it's 2005.”

The Doctor stands up. The Master stands with him. “No, don't go,” the Master says, no longer bothering to try to hide the desperation in his voice. “Why can I only feel you?”

“Look, I don't know who you are and I don't know what you're talking about so just go away.” The Doctor turns his back to the Master and begins to make for the door.

“Do you really not remember me? How can that be? Of all Time Lords, I should be the one you remember most. You should at least be able to remember my name, even if you don't remember everything about me.”

The Doctor shoulders stiffen. He turns around slowly to look at the Master with stormy eyes. His lips pull into a hateful sneer as he opens his mouth to speak. “So it's important to you, then, that I remember you? That I use your name when I talk to you?”

The Master has never seen such anger in the Doctor. The word “excited” doesn't do justice to how that anger makes the Master feel. Anticipation washes over his consciousness, making his whole body shudder. He lets out a relieved sigh. “Yes,” he breathes, his voice caught between reverence and lust. Oh, yes. The drums, the never ending drums. The Doctor would make them fall silent. The Doctor would make him better. The Doctor would.

Surprise briefly nudges out the anger on the Doctor's face. Surprise is replaced in turn by the shadow of disgust, which is followed by flat, grim stillness. “A reaction like that tells me we better take this somewhere private. And you've got some explaining to do first. Come on.”

The Doctor turns and walks out of the cafe door without looking back. That's wrong. The Doctor should never, would never, expect the Master to just follow like a dog obeying his master's command. The drums beat a little louder and a little faster, as though giving a warning, but the Master hesitates for only a second before following the Doctor outside.

The Doctor leads the way to an alley seven blocks away. The Master doesn't take his eyes off the Doctor in front of him the entire way. This regeneration walks differently than those the Master has met before. He doesn't so much walk as swagger with a little bit of menace and no trace of vanity. He moves his body like it's a weapon. It makes the Master hard just watching him walk down the street.

The Doctor's TARDIS is sitting just inside the entrance to the alley. The Doctor walks past it into the alleyway beyond. He stops, standing and staring at the brick wall at the end of the alley until the Master catches up to him. He rounds on the Master abruptly. There is no mistaking the rage on the Doctor's face and in his bearing. It's all the Master can do to not take a step backward, but somehow he manages to hold his ground.

“You wanted to know what happened? You tell me. Last I heard, the High Council was bringing you out of the Matrix. Looks like they did. So where were you, then, that you don't have a clue?”

The Master remembers what it feels like to be afraid, but he can't remember the last time he felt even a little ashamed about something he did. It's not a pleasant feeling. He makes sure his voice and expression are neutral before he speaks. “Away.”

“Away,” the Doctor repeats sardonically.

“Mm-hmm,” the Master answers noncommittally and looks around the alleyway as though there might be something interesting to see. There's nothing but the brick wall in front of them, concrete walls to either side of them, and the Doctor's TARDIS behind them.

Something in the way the Master won't meet his eyes makes the Doctor press on. “Thought it was a good time to go on holiday, did you?”

“Something like that. Why aren't you with them?”

“Why aren't you?”

The Master squints at him. “Do you remember me? Really remember me?”

“How could I not remember you?'

“Then why haven't you used my name?”

“Why would I want to? It would just go to your head. As far as I'm concerned, since you're standing here drawing breath, you've got precious little reason to have a swelled head.”

“Oh, I wouldn't say that,” the Master says as his gaze slides suggestively down the Doctor's body. “I admit your face isn't exactly pretty, but it's got loads of character. And your body's looking downright tasty. Leather suits you.”

The Doctor lets all the disgust he's feeling seep into his voice as he asks “What are you doing here? Besides spewing out feeble pick up lines.”

“Looking for answers. What are you doing here?”

“Looking to get away from you,” the Doctor says and starts moving toward the TARDIS.

The Master moves to block the Doctor's path. “Oh no. No you don't, Doctor. You don't leave until you tell me where they are.”

“I've got news for you. I go where I like when I like. I answer to no one and I take orders from no one. Least of all you.” The Doctor moves to step around him.

The Master mirrors the Doctor's motion and blocks his way again. “That's a switch. Time was you wouldn't even so much as move a muscle without asking my permission.”

“And time was you were on your knees sniveling and begging me not to leave. Remember that, Koschei?” The Master doesn't miss the way the Doctor sneers out his name from a former life, making it sound as though each syllable rhymes with “shit.”

“Wonderful revisionist view of our personal history you have, Doctor. Maybe I was a little distraught, I'll grant you that, but there wasn't any sniveling or begging. I do remember someone being on his knees, though, but it was before you decided that walking out on me was just too much fun to pass up. And it wasn't me. No, I seem to remember that it was you on your knees over and over again. Not talking, though. Your mouth was much too full for any of that. You do seem to forget which of us is the master and which is the natural-born slave.”

The Doctor grabs the Master by the lapels of his jacket and pushes him up against the alley wall so hard that the air is knocked out of his lungs. He holds him there at arm's length. “You've developed a bit of a violent streak,” the Master says once he's got enough breath back to speak. He smiles wickedly. “I like it.”

“And what about you? What have you developed?” The Doctor pulls the Master away from the wall and towards himself. _Close enough to kiss_ , the Master thinks, _or to bite_. “A talent for running away like a coward?” The Doctor pushes him harder into the wall and holds him there with the weight of his own body.

The Master pushes his body back against the Doctor. “And here I've been thinking that was you.”

The Doctor takes his hands off the Master and moves back from him so abruptly that the Master pitches forward to fall on his hands and knees. “Shut up.”

“Is that what you did, Doctor?” The Master straightens up off his hands and looks up at the Doctor. “Did you run? Honestly, that doesn't seem like you. Not when things like honor and righteousness are involved.”

The Doctor takes a step backward. “I said shut up.”

Still on his knees, the Master follows. “Tell me, Doctor. Where is it? Where's Gallifrey?”

The Doctor moves further back.

“I need to know, Doctor.” The Master tries to keep the begging note out of his voice. He disgusts himself by failing miserably, but he keeps on talking. “I need...I need to have something else inside my head or it'll drive me mad. I need something to drown out...”

“Need?” The Doctor backs away a few more steps. “You need something, do you? What makes you think you deserve anything you think you might need?” The Doctor's whole body shakes, whether from rage or revulsion the Master can't tell. Truth be told, he doesn't care.

Asking this Doctor about Gallifrey and the Time Lords is dangerous, the Master can see that. He needs to know, though, and in this body he's come to believe that a little bit of danger can be fun, so he presses on. “Where are they, Doctor?” The Doctor doesn't answer. “If you can't tell me, show me,” the Master says as he clambers to his feet. He moves toward the Doctor, arms outstretched. “Let me in.” 

"No,” the Doctor shouts as he tackles the Master to the ground and pins his body underneath his own.

“Let me in, Doctor,” the Master grinds out as he tries to roll the Doctor underneath him to gain the upper hand. He can't, though. This Doctor is too strong. Too strong, too angry, too ... something else.

The Master switches from trying to use force to trying to use reason. “Let me in. Let me see.” He reaches up and grabs the Doctor's shoulders. “I'll let you in, too. You can be in me. We'll be in each other.”

The Doctor stills. He stares in shock down at the Master, but then the stunned look on his face turns to pure contempt. “I'm I supposed to think that's a good offer, am I? I'm supposed to be tempted? What makes you think I'd want to be inside a thing like you?”

The Doctor's never been this cruel before. While the Master may like a bit of physical cruelty, he's pretty sure he could do without the Doctor's remarks. “You want it,” he spits furiously, then gentles his thoughts and tone as an old Earth saying about flies and honey and vinegar filters its way through the drums in his head. The Master runs his hands from the Doctor's shoulders up his neck to hold his head. He nudges at the Doctor's mind. The barriers are locked and triple dead bolted, but the Master can still feel the Doctor's longing for contact with his own kind bleed through, along with the Doctor's certainty that nothing of the sort is forthcoming. “Even with your mind closed as tight as it is right now, I can still feel how much you miss it. And I understand. You need it, the touch of another mind like yours. You want it. We both do.”

The Doctor lets out a disgusted huff as he knocks the Master's hands away. He lifts himself up off the Master's body and kneels, legs spread apart and hands on thighs as he catches his breath. “Maybe so, but I don't want you.” 

An epiphany can be a right bitch, the Master thinks to himself because, at that moment, he realizes something. He realizes that, no matter how much time passes or how deadly the enmity between them becomes, he will always feel hurt and humiliated whenever the Doctor rejects him. It's the one move the Doctor can always call up to win the game they play. The Master is certain that the Doctor enjoys using that move far more than he will every admit.

That's not all, though. Right along with that blinding flash, the Master also realizes something else. The Doctor's rejections only ever make him want the Doctor more.

The Master pushes the pain down and sits up. “You want someone, though, and I'm the only one offering. You'll just have to make do. Come on. I'm sitting here telling you I'm gagging for it and you're just going to pass it up? You want me to put a bag over my head? Would that help?”

“You're pathetic.” The Doctor stands up and begins walking towards the TARDIS at the alley entrance.

“Don't.” The Master stands up and quickly moves around the Doctor to block his path to the TARDIS again. “Let me in. Come in. I can help.”

This time, the Doctor doesn't back away and he doesn't move to sidestep around the Master. Instead, he stands face to face with the Master and just looks at him. There's a terrible blankness covering his features; the Master suddenly doesn't want to look at him too closely. “Help. **Now** you want to help.” 

The Master looks into the Doctor's eyes. The Doctor doesn't blink.

They'd been so alike when they were young. They'd had the same thoughts and goals and dreams. They'd shared the same drive and ambition that made them push against the Time Lords' authority, spurred them forward towards the ever bright beyond and linked their minds and souls like an ouroboros that writhed and pulsated with the force of their desires. They hadn't stayed whole and they'd been far from everlasting, but no matter.

As alike as they were, though, the Doctor had always had a place where he had been simply and only himself. In that place, he'd been curious and eager. He'd been hopeful for all things and all times. Above all else, he'd been absolutely, unshakably sure of what was right and what was wrong. The Master had thought the last one was a bit boring, actually, but it was there all the same.

Now the Master sees something in those blue eyes that isn't bright, eager curiosity. It certainly isn't hope. That's all gone. No. What he sees now in the Doctor's eyes is something dark, and it leaves no room for certainty about what is right and what is wrong. The Doctor's eyes show that he has become a man who can do anything. They also show that he can't stand what he's become.

What the Master sees makes him want this Doctor, this dark, angry Doctor, even more. “Yes,” the Master says quietly, even though the Doctor hadn't asked him a question.

The Doctor grabs the Master's lapels. He turns and pushes him back up against the concrete wall of the building on the side of the alley. “Your help is shit, Koschei. Just like you. But since you're so eager to let me in, maybe I'll just oblige you before I leave.”

The Doctor's hands move down the Master's chest and stomach and start pulling at his belt buckle. The Master's cock twitches. He spares exactly 1.3 seconds wondering if getting turned on by being manhandled and verbally abused by the Doctor says something bad about the state of his own mental health. Then he decides he doesn't care and reaches for the Doctor's head. He has every intention of kissing the Doctor with so much brutal force that he'll split the Doctor's lip. He doesn't get to, though, because the Doctor spins him around and smashes him face-first against the wall. The Master is just barely able to block the impact by bringing his hands up between his body and the wall.

“What, here?” The Master begins to push himself away from the wall, but the Doctor's pushes him back. “Not one of those big, fluffy beds you have inside your TARDIS? Where's your sense of romance? Used it all up on pretty girl companions?”

“Hands to home and no snogging,” the Doctor snarls as he reaches around the Master to finish undoing his belt. “And a quick fuck up against the wall is the most you're worth. Certainly all you deserve.” He pushes the Master's trousers and pants down with one hand as he presses the Master harder into the wall with the other, trapping the Master's hands and arms between his own body and the wall in front of him.

The Doctor spits into his hand. “It'll have to be spit. I shouldn't even bother, but it'll be uncomfortable for me as well with nothing at all. No, wait a minute.” He reaches down into the Master's trouser pocket while the Master squirms, trying to move his head so that the Doctor doesn't crack his cheekbone as he pushes him harder into the wall. The Doctor pulls a tube of hand cream out of the Master's pocket. “I should have known you'd have something at the ready. What have you been doing, trawling for little boys or renting yourself out on street corners?”

“Just get on with it,” the Master grits out between clenched teeth. He reminds himself that he wants this. He briefly thinks that having to remind himself that he wants this isn't a good thing, then pushes the thought aside as he pushes his hips back against the Doctor.

The Doctor moves the lower part of his body back. The Master hears the sound of the Doctor's zipper as the Doctor says “You weren't lying when you said you were gagging for it.”

“I actually had something else in mind, but this will do. At least it would do if you would shut up and just do it. What is it? Can't quite work up the energy? Too busy using it all on self-loathing?” As the words leave his mouth, understanding floods into his mind. Even if he wanted to, there'd be no point in acting on it. He gasps when the Doctor pushes him even harder into the wall and holds him there. “Come on,” he says breathlessly, hoping the Doctor thinks he's only breathless because of how he's being squished up against the wall. “Give it to me.”

“Impatient little slut” the Doctor says as he squeezes cream onto the Master's skin. He scoops it up with two fingers, then jams both fingers inside the Master. The Master cries out in surprise and exquisite pain. If he didn't know better, he'd say that it wasn't the Doctor behind him. The man behind him is someone much more like himself than the Doctor ever was.

“Just look at yourself,” the Doctor says as the Master bucks backwards into the Doctor's hand. “Squirming on my hand and screaming for more.” The Doctor moves his fingers roughly, stretching the Master with no finesse at all. “You'd do anything to feel my cock up your arse right now, wouldn't you? Like some two-bit Shobogan whore.” The Doctor withdraws his fingers and positions his cock at the Master's entrance. “No, you're not even that.” He pushes the head of his cock inside the Master, and the Master moans. “Whores are professionals.” He pushes in further, and the Master chokes back a sob. “Whores have some pride. You...,” he pushes in more, but stops when the Master pushes back to take him in further. “You're no professional.” He thrusts agonizingly hard the rest of the way in, making the Master shout and clench. “You're not even an amateur. You're not that good at it.”

Agony or not, the Master can't let that one pass. “Oh, that's not what you used to say. You used to tell me there was none better. You used to beg me to let you fuck me. You'd do anything I'd say, let me put it to you anyway I wanted, just hoping that I'd let you get in even a quick fuck.”

“Yeah. Being young and constantly randy will lower your standards. But you,” the Doctor pauses as he begins to thrust slowly, “you're worthless in all the ways that count. Always have been, always will be.”

“Yet here you are, fucking my worthless arse in an alley. What does that make you?” The Master jerks his hips back and gets a little gasp out of the Doctor as his reward. “Tell me, Doctor, what are the 'ways that count' as far as being worthless goes? Is it just being a bad lay or does it include not being able to tell me where Gallifrey is?”

“You talk too much,” the Doctor, voice low and gritty, says against the side of the Master's head.

“I know why I don't know, but I'm beginning to think that the fact that you can't tell me might mean more than just proving you're worthless as an information source. I think it might mean that you've done something that doesn't fit in with your white knight character.”

The Doctor moves his right hand to press crushingly against the back of the Master's neck while he shifts his left hand to press the Master's left hip into the wall. “Too much by half. Let's see if I can shut you up.” The Doctor speeds up his thrusts, settling on a bruisingly hard pace that crushes the Master's body against the wall.

The Master sucks in a breath and forces himself to keep talking. He shuts his eyes against a stinging sensation. “What is it, Doctor? You did what? Was it something terrible? Something shameful? Something that makes you feel like you shouldn't be drinking tea and reading newspapers in cafes? Like you shouldn't be living? Something that makes pounding me into a wall fitting punishment for you?”

The Doctor's only response is to pull the Master away from the wall a few inches, then slam him back into it. The Master's lip is cut on impact. Blood splatters on the wall as he chokes out his next words. “Am I your penance, Doctor?”

The Doctor takes his right hand off the back of the Master's neck and buries it in the Master's hair. He pulls the Master's head back so hard that the Master's back arches. He drives into the Master's body with the full force of his own then goes rigid. “Yes,” he groans out as he spills into the Master.

After a moment, the Doctor slowly lets go of the Master's hair and his hip. He puts his hands on the wall in front of the Master to either side of the Master's head. The Master can hear him trying to slow his breathing down. Slowly, almost gingerly, he pulls out of the Master, and stays close as he tucks himself away and zips himself back up. He backs away from the Master so that there is some space between their bodies, then stands very still.

The Master is quiet through all of this, quiet as he slumps to his knees now that the Doctor's body is no longer pressing him to the wall. He feels more than sees the Doctor start to reach down to him, and he's quiet as he scrabbles away from the Doctor's hands to half-sit, half-crouch against the wall a few feet away from the Doctor. He notes, from somewhere that feels very far away, that he's painfully erect. He looks down at himself and giggles.

The Doctor hunkers down next to him. “Here. Let me,” he mutters as he reaches for the Master's cock. The Master pushes the Doctor's hands away and shifts so that his shoulder rests against the wall and his back is to the Doctor. Every inch of his body aches. Everything hurts. He hurts.

“Let's get you into the TARDIS, then. You can take care of it in there yourself.” The Doctor slides a hand under the Master's arm and tries to pull him to his feet. The Master pulls away. He's still quiet. So are the drums, at least they are right now. _No wonder there_ , he thinks. _The Doctor makes people better, after all._

“Look, you can't go about like that,” the Doctor remarks conversationally as he stands up. “You need to get cleaned up, maybe rest up a bit. Come in.”

It's the last two words that make the Master throw back his head and laugh hoarsely. “No, Doctor, I don't think so.” The Master climbs to his feet. He pulls his clothes back up, tucks in his shirt, wipes at his cut lip with the back of his hand.

“Don't be daft. Come on.” The Doctor reaches for the Master's arm again. The Master dodges; the swift movement makes his head spin. He leans his back against the wall and laughs perhaps a little more maniacally than he should, if the uneasy expression on the Doctor's face is anything to go by.

“What is this, Doctor? A particularly hamfisted attempt at an apology? It changes nothing and, anyway, I don't need it.” A look that the Master can only describe as puzzled comes to the Doctor's face. The Master can't help but laugh again. “Oh, don't tell me. You're just wandering around in a dissociative fugue, not knowing and certainly not having any responsibility for anything that happens around you. Convenient, that. But, tell me, Doctor, did it help? Did using me like a bog roll help you get over your massive guilt? Did reminding me that I'm a worthless pile of shit knock down your towering shame? Yes? No? A little bit, maybe?” The Master's voice has gotten progressively louder, but his body's still too wracked to be able to shout. His lungs spasm and he starts to cough and gasp for air.

When the Master doesn't stop coughing after a few seconds, the Doctor steps closer to him. When the Master tries to turn away, the Doctor moves with the Master and puts his hands on the Master's shoulders. When the Master, still gasping and coughing, tries to break the Doctor's hold, the Doctor pulls the Master to him. The Master thinks the Doctor's going to start patting him hard on the back to help him stop coughing, which he doesn't think he'll be able to take in his bruised condition. The Doctor doesn't, though; he enfolds the Master in his arms instead. It's so uncharacteristic that it shocks the cough right out of the Master.

The Doctor briefly holds the Master, then pulls back from the embrace to cup the Master's face in his hands. He runs his thumbs under the Master's eyes and over his cheekbones, and it's only then that the Master realizes there are tears on his face. He was coughing hard, so tears squeezing out of his eyes is to be expected. But he can't be sure that the tears didn't start sometime, maybe quite some time, before he started coughing, and that bothers him more than a little.

The Doctor looks close to tears himself. The Master can't think why and the Doctor doesn't offer an explanation. “Yes,” is all the Doctor says before he lets go of the Master. He turns around, walks to his TARDIS, pulls out his key and unlocks the door. He doesn't look back at the Master, not even once, before he walks in, closes the door behind him and dematerializes.

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End file.
